Noon Judgment
by Alzipher
Summary: Harry isn't quite sure how he manages to get into such odd situations. However, he can honestly say he loves his adopted father, likes his new friends, and those vampires are interesting when they're not obsessing over his new and annoying sister.
1. Chapter 1

**To the Masses:** I hope this doesn't come across too 'Breakneck Sabbatical' for those of you who have read it…

**Soundtrack:** Hate Me (Blue October), Down and Out (The Academy Is…), and Man in the Box (Alice In Chains).

**Warnings:** I boned the timeline. Hard. (also Slash, OOC & AU (all fanfics are) mentions of abuse, projectile vomit, and –double checks- Language)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight.

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**Chapter One**

_According to legend, one day a man was wandering in the desert when he met Fear and Plague. They said they were on their way to a large city where they were going to kill 10,000 people. The man asked Plague if he was going to do all the work. Plague smiled and said, No, I'll only take care of a few hundred. I'll let my friend Fear do the rest. – anon._

His mouth quivered open in a soundless sob; at least he didn't hear it with his hands pressed tightly against his ears and his nails digging into his black hair and pale scalp. His entire body wracked in distress even, as the shouting from downstairs continued to escalate towards mindless screaming. His cousin began banging on their shared wall as if to tell him it was entirely his fault that his parents were in such a right state, and it was true.

Soon enough banging on the wall wouldn't be enough for Dudley though, and he would sneak out of his room to bang on the bared door instead, until eventually he felt compelled to pass that barrier and land his fists on the real object of his anger. That threat alone compelled Harry to curl into himself more tightly, so his elbows were digging into his own bony hips and he couldn't possibly make himself any smaller.

"The Freak brought this into our home," his uncle continued to rave from the downstairs kitchen while Petunia tried to deny that small, very important fact. Tried to get it through Vernon's thick skull that it wasn't Harry that led the 21st centuries most feared and all-powerful Dark Lord to label the Dursley family as enemies of the cause (whatever that cause happened to be, because no one had bothered to explain it to Harry). In actuality Vernon was right, it was because they took him in that they'd been targeted by the Death Eaters, why they were constantly shadowed by members of the opposition, The Order of the Phoenix.

Dudley finally made it to the door of the smallest bedroom and rapped on the bars with his heavy fists, mumbling harsh treats through the wood that Harry couldn't hear. He felt the heavy emotions and ill intentions though, as if the air was tainted with it all and he prayed that the shadows were enough to hide him.

Then Harry could hear his own cries over a sharp silence that pierced through Number Four, Private Drive. For a split second everything stopped, but it was quickly broken by the sound of his aunt letting out a surprised shriek and a thud, and Harry could almost see Petunia's body hitting the floor as if he were standing right beside her. Then Dudley vacated the area in front of his door at the distinct foot falls that warned them both that Vernon was on his way up the stairs.

Harry had never been so frightened for his existence, and the shift from domestic disagreement to genuine danger didn't escape him. If anything Harry had a very accurate barometer for danger, and at this point he didn't think he would survive the night. Tom Riddle might want his very existence wiped off the face of the planet, but Vernon Dursley wanted him to suffer.

For the first time in years Harry felt the chill run along his spine and he wished himself dead before his uncle came too close. He didn't remember why it had been years until it was almost too late, and Harry made a mad dash for the window.

The last time his uncle had punished him for his freak ways had been the summer before his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Things had stopped because he feared the other abnormal people knew he'd been laying hands (and belt) on his nephew. After first year, he'd clearly figured out they hadn't known else their living situation would look more like prison and less like upscale suburbia, but by then it was too late. Harry knew magic and didn't return to their home until much later in the summer and the Wealsey children had rescued him not long after that. The pattern continued for the rest of their summers together; third year he stayed gone until he realized he needed his guardian's permission to go to Hogsmead, and fourth year he stayed until the Weasley's came for him.

Circumstances changed, like all things tend to do and with the guard stationed around the house there was no way Harry could sneak out to Merlin knows where. They couldn't hold him forever though, he swore as he moved towards his window. A quick trick with an old piece of wire freed Hedwig from her traveling cage, Harry then made good use of an old lamp and knocked a hole in the window barely big enough for her to escape through, and just like that she was gone.

Hermione would be alerted to the situation as soon as Hedwig reached her; it was their code, that when Harry sent his owl without a missive he needed rescuing. She would alert the DA through their coins and there would be a team to retrieve him in less than ten minutes. All he had to do was survive the night and then Seamus could heal him up and he'd go into hiding. Damn the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry alike, there was only so much one savior could take.

Just as soon as Hedwig was through the window the locks were undone and Vernon strode across the tiny room. Two steps and the boy was in arms reach, and Vernon grabbed him up quickly. "This is your fault," he screamed hysterically, "you tell those freaks we've got nothing to do with their business! You tell them we don't want any trouble! They can have you as far as I care." He punctuated that statement by tossing Harry with all of his weight and leverage onto a pile of his son's old toys. Several sharp somethings pierced his side and lower back while his head made contact with an old toy replica of a construction truck, which was the most likely cause for the spots that invaded his vision.

He'd been in this position before, he reminded himself harshly. He was tied to the grave marker the night Tom was resurrected, he was tossed against stone and rubble in the Ministry that past month, then first year when a wraith had pashed through his curse scare. Pain was no stranger to Harry, but this time was different. This time Vernon was not scared for his reputation and that of his family –he was afraid for their lives.

Harry let a rush of information over come him, recalling everything he'd ever read about brave men and their families as he tried to drown out his own reality.

It wasn't fair, he decided. Why did Vernon get someone to protect, why did Dudley deserve a caring father and he was left an orphan with guards who couldn't even do their bloody jobs? Why did Ron get so many siblings, why did Hermione get parents that understood her? That's what Harry wanted; a family. It was his deepest desire.

Then came the moment he couldn't grasp onto the facts and memories flooded his mind. He wanted France in the summer; doing homework with Fleur in the afternoons, playing tea party with Gabriel even though she insisted they weren't playing, Sanguini's presence in the evenings as he attempted (and failed) to court the little girl without making himself out to be an old pervy vampire. He wanted India with the Patil sisters; learning how to make _dal makhani_ from their mother and being steamrolled into _khanda_ sword dancing with their aggressive aunt. Harry even wanted rainy nights in the damp barn with Seamus and his hundreds of relatives ("There aren't that many, Harry." "I can prove it!") as they sang horrible drinking songs.

He wanted it all so badly he thought his chest would explode.

Then it did.

Not literally of course, but magic was a funny thing. The energy and those pesky emotions found their way to the surface and the sensation of apparating nearly suffocated him.

Harry's system was shocked as he subconsciously forced himself from dark, painful Surry to a forest in the early evening. The air was different, as were the smells and sounds. It didn't help his situation at all that he appeared in midair, having previously been on the second floor of a rather spacious house.

Even still, as the fall forced the tiny somethings embedded in his back even further, he couldn't help but thing it was the nicest pace he'd ever been. He was sure the damp grass wasn't so bad once you got used to it, and it was certainly better than the wooden floors that no doubt contributed their splinters to Vernon's cause.

After little consideration Harry gathered magic in his mouth and flicked his tongue out several times. The air tasted of moss and grass and other wild life, but not like the moors or the Forbidden Forest. The area still had it's own magic, which surprised Harry very little, but there was something more he couldn't place before a rustling sound caught his attention.

"Name yourself," someone's deep voice reached him. It had a sense of authority and self-worth that hadn't quit reached arrogance, and it was clearly a protective order. Harry wanted to open his eyes and scan the trees, but the feelings associated with blood loss (and was he ever upset about being able to recognize those particular symptoms) started to set in. At that point opening his eyes would only make him dizzy, and he couldn't afford to roll over and vomit.

Instead Harry opened his mouth, hiding his suspiciously sharp canines behind his upper lip just like Sanguini taught him, and shouted back "My name is Injured, and I'm looking for a bloke named Healer. I think I'm supposed to meet him at the hospital."

Leaves crunched underfoot as the leader of nearest social hierarchy walked towards him and stopped so that his shadow covered Harry's pitiful features. "Smart ass," the man bit out and crouched down so that he could pick Harry off the ground. He was polite enough to pull away when Harry recoiled and waited patiently for him to say something.

"I do not keep my brain in my arse, thankyouverymuch," Harry snarked and fell silent soon after. "My back is hurt and I'm loosing blood," he mumbled in a vastly different tone, "I just need a second." He got his second, which he smartly used to convince himself that this man might not hurt him. Actually, his chances were pretty good if the waves of calm that radiated off of him meant anything. Then again, he could be a psychopath, he'd read somewhere that they were generally calm because they couldn't experience normal emotions.

When Harry gave a small okay two strong arms dug underneath him, one under his knobby knees and the other across the back of his shoulders. It had the advantage of not aggravating any of his injuries so Harry didn't complain, even when the man started jogging and his body was jolted with every step.

"Stay awake, we're almost there," the slightly-winded voice ordered and Harry did everything he could to obey. At least he could claim to if he was ever asked, but really he just wanted sleep. Whatever had punctured his back had started to burn and while it wasn't among his top ten uncomfortable sensations it quickly could be. The man must have guessed what Harry was thinking, or not, and continued to talk. "Tell me your name."

"Harry," he answered, "not short for Henry, Harrison, Harlan, or Harmony," he added after a moment of thought.

The man grunted in response, but didn't ask what his name was sort for like Harry thought he might. Everyone asked, Harry fretted. Of course, everyone he taunted with that bit of information was a Gryffindor and they just had to know –curiosity and cats, and all that. Maybe the man was a Hufflepuff, they didn't ask so many questions. He did seem like a hard worker, if the muscles pressed against his side were any indicator.

"Keep talking," the man ordered after a few silent seconds.

"About what?" Harry demanded to know, "the scenery? Oh, that's a nice tree we may nor may not have just passed and-" he was cut off as his own body began to warn him that projectile vomit was eminent. It wasn't enough warning to alert his rescuing captor, who was the target for his discharge a moment later.

The jostling stopped just as quickly and the arms under Harry flexed in irritation, disgust, and possibly anger. Several barking laughs reached his ears, reminded him of Sirius' very Padfoot-like cackles, and likely upset the man he'd just been sick all over. "We're here," the man bit out. Yeah, Harry decided, he was angry.

"Oh," Harry said innocently, "thanks then." Then he passed out rather promptly.

Harry woke to the sound of unfamiliar beeps in a room that smelled like sanitizer-coated shit. He sort of missed the moss and the wet grass. "Okay," he mumbled to himself, "you're going to open your eyes and not freak out. You can do it."

Slowly he began to blink his eyes open, wiping them with the back of his hands to ride himself of that crusty, just-woke-up feeling. His glasses were missing, but he hadn't actually needed them since the basilisk bite and subsequent phoenix healing. Their main purpose had actually become a means of protecting his eyes form the constant onslaught of light that was associated with magic. Hermione had thought it was fascinating, but the ability see magic felt like it may have been burning his retinas so he'd had Lavender Brown charm them to protect his eyes instead. Since the only magical thing in the room was him, he didn't fret over their disappearance.

The second thing he noticed, after his lack of specs was the man. Actually, it was the near-blinding white of the hospital room, and then it was the man. He wasn't the same as the one who'd rescued him, his posture was all wrong for a leader and he wasn't as fit.

This man was slightly tanned, and he had a head full of brown hair complete with a matching, fuzzy, brown mustache that didn't take over his entire mouth like his uncles did. He wore a uniform and the insignia on his jacket said he was a Sheriff, on the other breast of his jacket it said his name was 'C. Swan.' His kind, brown eyes looked sad but his smile was warm and genuine. Madame Pomfrey sometimes wore that expression, and Seamus always did, so Sheriff Swan must have guessed the primary cause of his injuries.

A grin tugged at the corner of Sheriff Swan's smile and Harry realized he must heave heard him talking to himself. A blush promptly took over Harry's face and he dropped his gaze to stare at his hands.

Sheriff Swan let out a laugh that reminded Harry of Arthur Weasley and smiled in fondness. "It's alright to talk to yourself," he began quoting, "so long as no one answers."

"Well," Harry began uncertainly, "what if I ask myself a question? Wouldn't it be rude not to answer?"

The kind stranger laughed again and slapped a hand across his knee. He seemed to forget about the worry that Harry had noticed earlier. Then, when Harry didn't fallow his joke up with another the mood dropped again and the nervous feelings returned. "Please don't say 'we need to talk.' It's quit possibly the worst phrase ever uttered by anyone, in the history of ever."

Sheriff Swan moved his straight back chair closer to the bed, careful not to drop any of the paperwork he'd been working on. He made his introductions, not thinking that Harry might have already caught his name by his jacket, but it was still nice to know that Sheriff Swan had a first name. Charlie, like Ron's brother. Harry thought he could trust a Charlie, and Sheriff Swan didn't seem like he had any murderous intent.

"So how did you come to be in Forks. It's a long way from any tourist spots, and I can tell you're not from around here," Sheriff Swan began.

"I don't know," Harry lied, pushing all of the memories of his apparition aside. "I just remember my aunt and uncle fighting and my cousin sneaking around while they weren't paying attention." After a moment's consideration he looked at the Sheriff with a serious edge to his gaze, "and what kind of name for a town is Forks, anyway?"

The Sheriff looked rather bashful at the question and told him he didn't know. "We found," Sheriff Swan began and then rummaged around in a pile of papers until he found what he was looking for, "these pretty deep in your back. Can you tell me where they're from?"

Harry took hold of the plastic bag and held it up to eye level. They were old iron soldiers, antiques that used to belong to Vernon, and his father, and likely his father's father. Harry honestly thought Dudley had broken the last of them ages ago. "They're my cousins," he answered honestly; "I didn't think he still had them."

"Do you know how they got into your back?" the man continued to press.

"You want the entire story?" Harry asked, and when Sheriff Swan nodded he huffed and sighed deeply. "There's an old bloke who murdered my parents. Completely off his rocker, that one. Something happened to him the night my parents died and no one found any danger with placing me with my mum's sister." Harry paused to assess all of his old and faded scars; most of them were from his misadventures at Hogwarts. Vernon was a surprisingly careful bloke. "He resurfaced when I was eleven, I guess he had been locked up or something like it for a while. No one really knew until recently though, that he was causing trouble. Then last year he…" Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to talk about Sirius. He wasn't even sure if the Sheriff believed him, but one look at the kind mans face showed Harry that he wasn't thinking he was mad just yet. "My godfather got the shit end of the stick…and he's not around anymore. When he…passed, everyone knew Tom was back. My uncle didn't take the news all that well. I don't blame him, it's my fault his _perfect_ wife and his _perfect _son are in danger. I remember he was angry and he pushed me, and I'm fairly certain these are the tiny somethings I landed on."

"He punished you for what was happening?" Sheriff Swan asked in a carefully neutral voice. He had to admit he was lucky for a town like Forks, the worst case he'd ever seen was a domestic abuse situation five years previously. It had been nasty, but long term mistreatment that Dr. Cullen had talked to him about was a whole new level of injustice.

Harry gave the typical teenage answer, a shrug, before he gave a reply that Charlie could work with. "He's scared. Scared people do all sorts of stupid, mean things." He knew he sounded like he had experience with stupid, scared people and didn't care. Ron always said it was good to be honest and let some things off of his chest, but if he didn't want to talk about something he didn't have to. It was quit possible that was what their friendship was built upon, but Harry wasn't fretting nor was he going to elaborate on what he meant by 'mean things.'

"That's true," Sheriff Swan conceded with a gallant bow of his head that doubled as a chance to go over his notes. "You've answered all of my questions so far," he continued, "all I need to know now is your last name and the names and address of your relatives."

Harry made an expression that Sheriff Swan must have correctly interpreted as a mix between a stink face and blatant fear. "Even if you told me, knowing what we do now, you won't be sent back to live with them."

"Someone will send me back," Harry grumbled while thinking of Dumbledore and several members of the Order, "someone always does."

"You can apply for a student visa," Charlie pressed on, "or a foster home will be willing to take you in, or you could be adopted. You don't have to go back to your relatives." He expressed such determination Harry couldn't help but blurt out;

"Would you adopt me?" It took a couple of seconds to let the weight of what he'd just said settle on him, and he looked to the side. "Sorry," he apologized quickly, "it must be the pain medication."

Silence became the unwelcome friend for the next few moments before Sheriff Swan carefully explained, "you're not on any pain medication. You were allergic to most of them, and the rest metabolized before they could numb you properly."

"Oh," Harry said quickly. "Blood loss?" he tried again.

"The doctor said your levels were normal," Sheriff Swan answered, feeling less awkward and embarrassed and more amused by the second as Harry's green eyes darted around the room.

"Um, low blood sugar?" Seamus always told him he needed to eat more, because the venom from the basilisk burned calories quicker than Snape could take points from Gryffindor, and he did explain it in those words. It would be logical, except Sheriff Swan pointed to a plastic bag attached to a hose, which was pinned into his arm that clearly indicated that low sugar wasn't the cause. "I'm hungry."

Sheriff Swan was smiling kindly again, and his lips twitched as he tried not to grin. "That'll do it, I guess," he surrendered. "I'll tell the nurse on the way out, I'm sure they're already waiting to check up on you."

"Thanks," Harry said kindly, "and Sheriff Swan." He waited until Charlie turned around again and stared down at his hands, 'I must not tell lies' he recalled (as if it were at all possible to forget). "Hare Jacob Potter. My relatives are Vernon and Petunia Dursley of Number Four, Private Drive in Surry."

Harry fought the impulse to call Sheriff Swan back and beg him not to leave him alone. It was natural to be scared and want for company. _Natural_, Harry reminded himself, not _necessary_.

Charlie's mind was occupied as he drove back to the station. It was occupied as he filed the necessary paper work and alerted the FBI. It was occupied when he drove home to his daughter, ignored her boyfriend, and ate dinner in silence. His mind became suddenly _un_occupied when his precious daughter and her boyfriend stood at the same time and made their way for the door.

"Wait," Charlie called out. Both teenagers turned slowly and Bella blushed like her blood had just been lit on fire. Instead of scolding the both of them however, he asked "how would you feel about having a brother?"

Bella blinked in shock before turning to glare at Edward for some reason lost on Charlie. "Dad," she began slowly as if the next few words would be embarrassing, likely for the both of them, "are you seeing anyone?" She asked as if she was the parent and he was the teenager that had gotten some girl knocked up.

"No," Charlie assured her, "I'm thinking of adopting." His mind filled with black curls and sharp green eyes, then frail limbs and old scars. It would be hard work, he thought, the boy would need grief counseling at the very least. It would probably be a good idea for him to see a shrink on some regular basis, but there was wisdom in his words that led Charlie to believe he would be just fine in time.

"Oh," Bella answered and then gave the teenage answer to just about anything, a shrug. "It's your call dad," she told him, "but I think it'd be cool."

Then both teens turned and began to make their way to the door again, likely hoping they'd dodged a bullet when Charlie called out to them again in a slightly distracted tone, "stay in the living room." He could almost feel their disappointment and embarrassment.

He would think it over some more, Charlie decided. Adopting a child wasn't some rash decision, he reminded himself as expressive green eyes lurked in the back of his mind. He'd have to sleep on it.

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**To Those of You Who Just Read:**

Thank you for reading the first chapter of –glances around- what did I name this story again? Oh, right I haven't yet. –thinks- Alien Under the –double checks moon phases- no that doesn't work…Rhymes with 'moon'…noon, makes sense later…Tarot association with New Moon…which this is kind of a parody of, is Judgment. So…Noon Judgment? It's not as bad as some of the other stuff I've been thinking of.

I changed Harry's cannon name. I always do, don't know why yet but I'm not interested in examining the Freudian reason for it. I named him Hare after the March Hare, and Jacob after James (both names have the same origins). –Dramatic and sarcastic sigh- I guess he can keep his last name.

Other things I was supposed justify. I can't recall…It's about five thirty in the morning and I really should have gone to bed hours and hours ago. Later I guess.

Oh, and to people who are willing to credit a certain lack of information (Who Harry's Native rescuer was)on bad writing; I plan on revealing that in chapter two.

I like quotes, song suggestions, and reviews,

Alzipher


	2. Chapter 2

**To the Masses:** Because this story is still new and shiny, I give you chapter two; a segment in which I will endeavor to answer many questions, and then taunt you with more.

**Soundtrack: **Unbreak My Heart (Toni Braxton), Happy Ending (Mika), and Waiting For the End (Linkin Park).

**Warnings: **OOC & AU (all fanfiction is), slash, abuse, boned timeline, very little bashing.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Twilight.

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**Chapter Two **

"_It is wise to disclose what cannot be concealed," Friedrich von Schiller_

The nurses came into to change his bandages, or so they claimed. Harry was sure their primary function was to collect information that they could later share with all of the other overworked, underpaid, bored nurses on staff. One young woman, a local who was close to finishing her internship and had returned to Forks to start a family (Harry knew all of this because she'd told him, and just did not shut up) continued to make noises of pity in the back of her throat every time she came upon a new row of stitches.

After the fourth time she'd made an 'aww' sound, followed by a clear but unsaid 'poor baby,' Harry turned his eyes to the more matronly nurse who was standing by holding his new bandages. He made sure he caught her gaze before shifting eyes to the younger nurse and pulling a face. Her eyes lit in understanding as she cleared her throat, catching the attention of Annoying Nurse. "Miss Stanley," she said nicely enough, "could you go see if Nurse Kaufman needs anything?"

Miss Stanley looked alarmed for a moment before she attempted to look humble and said goodbye to Harry before she left. Just as soon as she was out of sight Harry's gaze turned grateful and he gave the elderly woman his thanks.

"She's still learning," the nurse explained as she stepped forward and took over the work. "I am Nina," she added a moment later. When she didn't prattle on about information he didn't want or need Harry decided he liked her. He could almost smile at the way her wrinkled fingers rubbed against his sore muscle as she examined the stitches and the way she hummed in the back of her throat. It reminded him of the deep voice of his rescuing captor, who he supposed was just his rescuer in the end.

"Do you know who brought me in?" Harry asked. He'd meant to question Sheriff Swan about it, but lost a bit of his wit under the stress. Harry wondered if it was inappropriate to bake treats for a bloke he'd been sick on.

Nurse Nina pulled back to stare into his eyes and he stared right back, liking the way her black eyes seemed more like warm coals rather than the cold stone of Snape's. "My nephew, Sam found you. He brought you to my own home, because it was closer," she admitted. "We brought you here in Jacob Black's truck, before it was too late. Your doctor is Carlisle Cullen, he left just this morning to go camping with his own children."

Sam was the name of the gruff leader who'd rescued him. Sam and Nina and Jacob Black, plus his doctor and the good Sheriff of a town called Forks. He would bake them all Thank-You-Cupcakes; they would be big, and chocolate-y, and express his extreme Thanks for saving his life.

Harry thought, while Nina continued to wrap his lower back in white gauze, that his current stint in the hospital reminded him of Madame Pomfrey and Seamus. He only ever went to the school nurse if too many people witnessed his injuries or he was taken in while unconscious. Seamus, who wanted to be a Healer and could likely qualify on the spot, patched him up every other time.

After second year it was Seamus who consistently violated his sense of personal space to poke and prod him for at least an hour a day, for an entire year. He and Hermione cataloged the changes he underwent when the basilisk venom and phoenix tears merged with his body. When the other boys in his year were growing their short and curlies and waking up with pus filled nodules Harry grew his noticeably sharper canines, complete with glands in the roof of his mouth. His dorm mates learned scent masking charms to hide the stench of puberty while Harry used them to hide from the non-humans of Hogwarts (which he honestly thought only included Hagrid, Flitwick, and a first year Hufflepuff with a lunar issue).

All the memories of Seamus' examinations and Hermione's constant flow of theories reminded him where he was (what he knew about it, anyway) and his responsibilities to the Wizarding World. Not surprising by the standards of the DA, there was a code for sudden disappearances and kidnappings. All Harry needed was the gold coin he kept in his sock for emergencies. In thought he stared straight ahead and didn't notice when Nina taped off the end of the gauze until she pushed on his shoulder, indicating that he should lay back down.

"Nurse Nina," he inquired innocently enough, "you don't happen to know where my lucky coin is, do you?" He couldn't exactly call it a galleon; she would have no idea what he was talking about.

"I think so," she said and moved to the cabinet on the other side of the room. She pulled the door open and rummaged through a small pile of his things. "No one wanted it to get stolen or picked up by accident, so it's been in here," she explained as she walked back to the bed and handed the coin to him.

He stared at the dragon carved into it's face for a moment before turning it on it's side and surveying the serial number. It read 'X-001.' The 'X' meant that he should indicate his location, 'X marks the spot,' as they say. The number was his, just as Ron's was '002' and Hermione's was '003.' Each coin was linked, as Hermione has explained, and as Harry understood it that meant 32 other people got the same message and all of them knew he was missing.

Harry looked up again and thanked Nurse Nina, as his mind processed the information. He gave his best charming smile and she gave him a kind one in return, promising to return with food and apologizing beforehand because it would most likely taste like all hospital food did –scrubbed down goblin toes. Harry seriously wondered if they made the food taste so bad because they didn't want to give anyone an excuse to return.

Once Nina was gone Harry was left alone. He looked back down at the coin and concentrated on funneling his magic through his hand. It wasn't at all hard; his magic was used to being channeled through that arm anyway, so that it could reach his wand. He watched as the light traveled under his skin until it pooled in the tips of his fingers and then he concentrated on his message.

There was a certain way that DA members were supposed to respond to an inquiry. The answer to an Hermione's question was actually four parts; location, physical status, mental status, and danger level. Each part of the answer was separated by a hyphen. The first answer was of course 'USA,' because it didn't take a genius to figure that out. The second part was 'TW' which stood for 'Treated Wound.' After another dash he added that his Will to Live was good (WTLG), and after that he carved a one in for his danger level. When he was all done he felt the coin warm up and then cool slightly.

Several time-zones over Hermione felt the same sensation and quietly reached into her pocket to retrieve her own _lucky coin_. As subtly as possible she brought it out, glanced at it once, and then returned it. She couldn't afford to stare at it, in her situation, else someone would become suspiciously.

Early that morning Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks appeared in her living room and, after waking her family, informed her as calmly as they could that there had been an incident and that they couldn't find Harry. Hermione hadn't really been surprised; it was only a matter of time before someone figured out that Harry didn't spend his summers where he said he was. That previous year he'd even spent an evening at her house, had dinner with her and her parents, and then took Hermione to a late night showing of old Rock Hudson movies (because they both thought he was a hunk).

Then Tonks nervously retold some of the things that Vernon Bloody Dursley had been spouting off and Hermione felt her blood run cold. Her first reaction, as a Gryffindor, was to march off and find her friend without a care in the world. She would have hacked her way through the Conga with a dull machete if she had to. The more Ravenclaw route was to acquire more knowledge, alert the proper people, and to keep her trap shut unless she wanted to reveal everything she knew about Harry's carefully constructed 'Perfect Boy-Who-Lived' identity.

Hermione explained everything to her tired parents, and they reluctantly allowed her to leave with the Auror's with express orders not to leave Head Quarters unless absolutely necessary.

They arrived in the middle of a giant meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. All of the regular members were there, likely being assigned tasks and locations that they thought Harry could have been. Hermione was both amused and disappointed that they were only checking places like Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron. Maybe she'd take pity on them and subtle suggest other places like France and Egypt.

Sitting at the table, being talked down at by adults, sat Ron and Ginny. Each of them was being questioned about Harry, and likely giving vague and unhelpful answers for the trouble. Ron looked up when she entered the room and gave a tiny; two-finger wave to remind her there was something left she had to do. She remembered the coin then and excused herself to the bathroom.

Once she had an ounce of privacy her wand was out and she'd changed the serial number to the standard location inquiry. She'd flushed the toilet and washed her hands for good measure, and then returned to the dining room.

Neville arrived not long after and waved shyly, with his thumb pressed against his middle finger to inform her that he'd gotten the coin message and he wanted to be filled in. He was in charge in Harry's absence, much to the protest of Neville himself. Ron was good with strategy and planning, but he lacked the charisma to lead. Harry thought Neville had it, and after spending time and training with him Hermione felt she could agree. He wasn't the most outspoken bloke, and his quiet demeanor came off as insecure to his loud peers, but his patience was a virtue that Harry wouldn't dare overlook.

In reply to Neville's inquiry, Hermione used her pinky and ring finger to push a lock of hair behind her ear. That told Nev that he should ask the Twin's, who had moved to an out-of-the-way corner and didn't budge for anyone. They'd already been questioned, and every Order member naturally assumed that they knew very little because of the age gap. If anything, Hermione thought, they would understand very well.

She was one out of (maybe) ten people that knew Harry was short (or rather 'long') for Hare. His parent's had named him after the March Hare in _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, by Lewis Carroll, and they were spot on. To her, Harry (not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived) was an over caffeinated, neurotic loon with a playful streak as wide as a dragon's wing span. She was sure they would have named if after the Hatter if James Potter thought he could get away with it.

The Twins were two of the (maybe) ten that knew. In addition, Hermione suspected they knew his prank preferences, provided him barely-legal books, and scared off any potential love interests with threats of injury if they hurt him with their careless declarations. The Order was making a mistake by ruling them out.

Unfortunately for their cause (supporting Harry), Dumbledore himself was questioning Ron.

There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that Ron was the closest. He was the person Harry talked to after nightmares, who he came to with his problems, who he let himself become angry with when he was under far too much stress. Harry told Ron things that he would never tell anyone else, and Ron told him things Harry needed to hear.

Ron was the first person to tell Harry that he wasn't a freak, or a burden, or worthless. He was the one who informed everyone in a matter-of-fact way that they had to ask Harry's permission if they wanted a hug, they couldn't just smother him with random attacks of affection. Ron told Harry that he didn't deserve Vernon's punishments and that the pain he'd suffered wasn't his fault. After fourth year he was the first to tell Harry that Cedric's death and Tom's revival weren't his fault, and after fifth year he said that Sirius died a hero and that wasn't his fault either.

In response to the grandfatherly interrogation Ron kept his gaze locked on a spot on Dumbledore's face without actually looking him in the eyes. He was learning Occlumency, from an old tomb that Harry and a few others were translating from Welsh, but it was an ongoing process and Dumbledore had a very long time to practice his Legillimency skills.

Hermione went through her own questioning, and eventually let herself relax. They weren't asking hard or pointed questions, they weren't demanding to know the right things, and they certainly weren't plugging the loop holes of the inquiries they did have. She hardly had to lie at all, it was all so easy. Neither did they bring in anyone else after Neville. If it were up to Hermione, she would have at least brought in his other room mates. Especially Dean, who couldn't lie to save Merlin's saggy balls.

It was nearly four in the morning and the rest of the Order had arrived, including Snape. His appearance surprised the Weasley children a great deal, but Hermione took it in stride and Neville was putting a great deal of effort into masking his phobia with calm indifference.

It turned out that Neville did actually have cause to worry, because when Hermione got Harry's reply via their coin it was Snape who watched Hermione rub her brow with her middle finger (to inform them there was new information) and the six return signals. Maybe they should have taken turns, instead of all tugging at their ear at the same time. At least Percy had the decency to realize he'd done it and bury his face in his hands.

Snape smiled once he'd processed the information, not even two seconds later. Hermione felt for Nev, she really did, he looked like he was going to start crying at any moment. "Well," Snape drawled carefully, catching the attention of everyone in the room, "Miss Granger, do you care to share what Mr. Potter had to say?"

The audience shifted their stares from Snape to Hermione so quickly she was sure a few of them had whiplash. Hermione didn't pay them much attention and leveled a glare at her potions professor. She wanted to say no almost instantly, but failure to cooperate would probably get her _lucky coin_ taken away and her mind raped by stupid old men who just happen to have a good book on Legillimency.

Instead she pulled out her coin and wand and concentrated hard, the rune for Protection appeared. It looked a bit like a bird's foot, which was why it had been voted for the symbol of the Order of the Phoenix. After the rune she carefully inscribed an 18 (as in R, the 18th letter of the alphabet), a question mark, and an x.

Harry received his message while he was still alone in his room and swore softly to himself. Hermione's message meant "The Order is asking your location."

He didn't want them to know, they would only send him back to the Dursley's or lock him away like they did Sirius. Ron had assured him that he had a right to be free, just like any other human –with or without weird venom secreting fangs. He wasn't even healed yet, and he wasn't ready for everyone to see the length of his suffering. Before his admittance into the hospital the only people that knew just how much the Dursley's hated him were Hermione, Seamus, and the five youngest citizens of the Village of Weasley. Even though there wasn't a lot to share, just a few scares here or there, Neville and Dean hadn't ever seen him shirtless –and they shared living space. The most recent additions to his collection, courtesy of the iron soldiers, were obvious and numerous.

Harry quickly replied with a series of numbers in symbols that meant "No, I've found peace."

Hermione relayed the message accurately to the Order, and didn't care much for their reaction.

"What does it mean?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly enough, which only rouses Hermione's suspicion.

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Ron explained, "he found a peaceful place he wants to spend his summer and he'll not be coming back. Isn't that enough?"

Several people shouted, all at the same time that it wasn't and the DA plus Percy ignored them. It wasn't there call, it was Harry's. He'd done a fine job of raising himself so far, and there was no reason for him to change.

Arguments broke out among the Order and the DA watched as chaos began to take over with a sense of irony. McGonagall was busy unleashing her fury upon the Headmaster, claiming she knew those muggles were no good from the start. Tonks and Shacklebolt bickered quietly in the corner amongst themselves, Tonks hair was flashing rapidly as her moods changed and Shaklebolt remained an ever stoic reminder of what self-control really meant.

Neville stood from his spot with only one uncertain glance towards Snape before he roared "Quiet!" and everyone did just that. It wasn't every day a secret society of self-righteous adults was shouted at by a fifteen year old student. "You all should behave like adults," he chastised carefully. Before they could get over their shock Neville turned back to Hermione, "What's his location?"

"We've already asked," a woman, Hestia Jones if Hermione remembered correctly, said and then continued with far too much sarcasm, "and he said he was in peace."

"No," Percy stepped forward to correct. He had really just shown up to apologize to his mother and father, admit he was wrong and then scram before the Twins caught onto his scent. Much to his horror, he only got the first few syllables out before Dumbledore flooed in with conviction. "Miss Granger told him the Order wanted to know where he was, and to that he said no." Then he turned back to Hermione, "what's his full status?"

Heads turned back to Hermione who huffed in annoyance before she rattled off the facts, "Location, the United States of America. He has at least one treated wound. His Will to Live is good, and his danger level is one out of twelve."

No one said anything as Neville began to walk back and forth without a care for who was watching. He was in deep thought, and when he came out of it he stopped and turned to Hermione. "Ask him about his wounds," he ordered in a surprisingly solid tone. He could have done it himself, his own coin was kept in a leather pouch around his neck, but if too many people started to send messages the system would get clogged and no information would get through. The rest of the DA knew that, and a lot of them were probably watching the coin intently and waiting for their own questions to be answered.

Harry wasn't very surprised when he got the next message. The Order was obviously alerted to their system and Seamus would have asked if Hermione didn't.

He glanced at the small window of the door for a few moments, and when he was assured no one would burst in he sat up and crawled towards the edge of the bed. He was very mindful of the machinery he was attached too and the IV in his arm as he reached for his medical chart. Once it was within his grasp he sat back against his slightly inclined bed and began to read quickly. He didn't understand half of what was written, but a few words did stand out. He had several non-fatal puncture wounds and relayed that to Hermione. They didn't have any abbreviated word for 'stitches' but he knew she was watching the coin intently so he waited only a moment before spelling the word out and sending the second message.

The Order didn't take kindly to knowing their personal Jesus was being treated by barbaric muggles. Neville had to shout a second time to get them all to shut up, which Hermione knew was not a point in their favor. Harry taught the DA to respect whoever was in charge, whether it was himself, Ron, Nev, or the first year that was just learning the basics but had a really cool idea. The DA became a place where everyone was truly equal, even the handful of Slytherin's Harry literally kidnapped, and they did not speak over each other. If there were conflicting opinions they deliberated quietly among themselves and then chose spokes people.

Hermione sighed again, it was a sad day when children were more mature than the elderly. The room fell silent as the DA was thinking, Hermione noted that they were all looking expectantly rather than spending that time to think up questions of their own. A few moments later another message warmed her coin and she quickly translated "chance for," she paused and squinted, the last symbol wasn't used often "village."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Dung Fletcher asked from his spot in the back of the room.

"Not village," Ron said, "we only use that symbol because Harry calls us the Village of Weasley," several someone's snorted in amusement, "he means family. He has a chance for a family."

"He's been there less than a day," Ginny said flatly.

No one really had much to add to that sentiment, and Hermione took the quiet time as an opportunity to ask him why he thought he had a chance at a family in the seven hours he'd been missing. Her reply was a simple number, Luna's number.

"We should ask Luna, he says," Hermione told Neville directly. The Order of the Phoenix was no longer her concern. With very few exceptions, they were all idiots. Lupin and Moody, the two people that Harry thought contributed the most, weren't even there. Shacklebolt and Tonks sat quietly in their own corner and watched everything play out while taking careful notes, and the rest of the Weasley's that were there put Harry first and the Boy-Who-Lived last.

Luna was an important person to the DA, and a good friend to several of the members. She had the magical sight, like Harry did, and he claimed that she made sense to him and that was all that mattered. She was also a Seer fledging. Luna didn't have the power of visions like matured Seer's do, but she got impressions and feelings that should always be taken seriously.

"If," Fred began and both he and his twin were staring at the floor in deep concentration. "If," the other twin tried, "he says to ask Luna he either doesn't know why that's his home, or she's already told him why and we don't have code for it."

"Oh," it was the first noise Dumbledore had made since most of the information began unraveling itself before everyone's eyes. That little 'oh' was one of curiosity, and the entire DA knew of the interest their Headmaster took in Seers. "Does Miss Lovegood have anything substantial to contribute?" he asked in a pleasant, soothing tone.

The DA members turned to glare at him and Percy gave a look of stern disapproval, all of which shocked the socks off of the Order members. It was Neville that spoke first though, "Luna Lovegood is under the protection of the Longbottom family and Harry Potter."

"What's the brat going to do, reflect a killing curse at him?" a woman that Hermione didn't know asked. Several glares shifted towards her, but no one elaborated.

"I must say," Dumbledore continued, paying no attention to what the rude woman just said, "my patients is running a bit thin."

"I can see why," Neville replied, crossing his arms in a rather intimidating way, "you're dying, aren't you?" That was when Hermione noticed his shriveled hand, and relayed the information to Harry using the star and rune meant for Dumbledore and the symbol they used for curse. It wasn't lost on her that 32 other people were also getting the same message.

As quickly as the other messages came, Harry replied. A snake is what it was, a snake in the shape of a rune called Eihawaz; the symbol for Harry's venom.

The DA felt their own coins warm and cool quickly, but when Hermione didn't attempt to relay the message over the chaos they all looked towards her. Her color had drained and her hands were shaking in unrestrained panic. The rest quickly took out their coins and Percy looked on in confusion but didn't demand an immediate answer. Slowly they each began to loose color, and Ginny even dropped hers onto the table before standing and going towards her parents for comfort.

"Get out," Neville demanded as the stress took over and the Order continued their horde-thinking. "You clearly cannot contain yourselves and the vast majority of you have not endeavored to use your own brain once since I arrived. You lot are disrespectful, unreasonable, and undisciplined. You're not contributing anything and are no better than cannon fodder." The room sat shocked and Neville tolerated it for a second before he snapped, "Get out."

When Dumbledore didn't stand up for them they began to filter through the exits. Neville called a few of them back; Tonks and Shacklebolt, Snape, and McGonagall. Neither of the Weasley parents had budged nor hadn't Neville demanded they leave, so they stayed and gave suspicious looks their children.

Once the door had shut behind the last of the ignorant masses Neville sank into a seat, the Twins wrapped around each other, and Ginny clung to the side of her father.

"He's serious," Ron said incredulously.

"Care to explain?" Snape asked in a tone that none of his students had heard before. It wasn't demanding or angry like it usually as in class, it wasn't caustic and designed to harm like every time in between. Of course, it was still saturated in sarcasm, but the inquiry was genuine and not meant to do harm.

Hermione sent a few symbols back, asking Harry if he was sure –if he even knew what that meant.

Harry could only sit in his hospital bed in deep thought. Dumbledore was important to the cause; he was the figurehead of all that was good in the Wizarding World. Harry was only their savior, and he wasn't a very good one at that. He was short, mistreated, and was far too comfortable outside of what was considered the social norm. Sure, at first the people would cling to him in hope, but eventually they would see past the image he'd created for himself. No one wanted a pseudo-human as a savoir, especially those who couldn't even stand people like Hagrid or Remus. The Headmaster couldn't see it, but he really was their hope, not some Red-and-Gold Slytherin.

If saving Dumbledore meant that he had to out himself in several different ways then he'd do it. He was already in America, where the laws on magical creatures were nonexistent and the air smell-tasted like home.

Saving the Headmaster didn't mean he was being selfless, not a bit. If Dumbledore took the lead in the war then Harry could be left to live his own life, away from the Prophet and the Ministry. He could stay in Forks, explore Canada, or move to France. Hang the prophecy; they were subjected to opinion anyway. So yeah, Harry was sure and he sent the symbol for his venom to Hermione a second time. He waited an entire minute, and then he sent another symbol; an incomplete circle that meant everything to the DA. It was Harry giving permission to spill all of the secrets; at least all of the one's related to the DA and Harry's inhuman situation.

"He's sure," Hermione said in a bit of shock. She looked up in a flash and surveyed Snape's closed off expression, then the curious one of Molly and Arthur. Slowly then, she reached into her back pocket, where she kept a small bundle of important information. Ginny kept her own notes in her front pocket and the blokes kept their in their wallets or change purses. She dug through the information until she found the one she was looking for. It read 'January, 7th Year.' "Damn," she didn't win.

Judging by the foul language or disappointed looks from her colleges they didn't win the bet either, and they all stared down at their coins waiting for the winner to announce themselves. The DA took bets rather seriously, and they wagered and a vast number of things. One of the largest pools was on when Harry would relinquish them from their Oaths of Silence, which he'd just done. Whoever 027 was, they were a lucky bastard.

"What did he say?" Tonks asked from her new seat across from Hermione.

"He released his secrets," Hermione began, "not all of them, of course. This is Harry weren't talking about, but he's given permission to release some very sensitive information."

"What would that be?" Snape sneered at the lot, not at all disturbed by his close proximity to Longbottom, "his favorite shampoo?"

Ginny feigned a shocked gasp from her seat across from her potions professor, "you know what shampoo is?" Several people choked back laughter as Snape glared at his student.

"Where do we even begin?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"How about you tell us about the Dursley's?" Shacklebolt asked. He was the Auror after all, and a case of child abuse was a very serious thing –worth a public hanging in the Wizarding World.

"No," Ron cut in, "that's Harry's story to tell." That of course was a tell that there was something to talk about, and that the situation was likely worse than they first thought. "You should start with second year."

"We all know how Potter saved Ginervra from the monster," Snape snapped, "what as that got to do with your precious Army?"

"Well," it was Percy that began, and his pretentious tone had morphed into one of contempt, "did you know that he was bitten by the basilisk?" Judging by the shocked gasps he could only assume they hadn't. "He only survived because Fawkes cried into his wound."

"We should call Seamus to explain that bit," one of the twins said while the other continued, "and Luna, while you're at it." The other students agreed quickly.

"The curse," Neville said, presumably changing the subject. He motioned towards Dumbledore's arm before he continued, "is it stable?"

"We have some time yet, Mister Longbottom," the Headmaster answered.

Neville nodded at the information and stood, "then we're all to get some sleep. 'Mione, call a meeting for early evening, tomorrow. Headmaster, you're flaming chickens have one last chance to prove their better than a small contingency of students. We'll meet in the Come and Go room of Hogwarts, and have the DA coordinate their own travel plans." The rest of the DA members and Percy stood when Neville was done giving his orders, and Hermione instantly set to work on relaying the information. First was a small Celtic knot that meant they were calling a meeting, the date, and then the location. The members of the DA were fairly self-sufficient and plans to reach Hogwarts wouldn't be hard to make, even for the muggle-borns.

In Forks Harry received the last message and cringed. He may have okayed the flow of information, but knowing that the entire Wizarding World would soon find out about his venom's effects worried him. There were very sound reason for keeping that information contained, but hopefully Forks was outside the range of the Ministry.

Just as he was really started to fret a knock echoed through his room and a second later the door opened. Charlie Swan poked his head in just enough to glance around before he swung the door all the way open.

He wasn't in his uniform, which wasn't surprising considering Miss Stanley had already informed him it was Saturday in between her drivel of useless information. Instead of carefully pressed pants and his black jumper Sheriff Swan wore a pair of old jeans and a flannel shirt, so maybe it wasn't a meeting for business.

"How are you doing Hare?" Sheriff Swan asked and Harry immediately noticed the use of his legal name. The shock must have shown on his face for a brief second because Charlie scratched the back of his head in a bit of embarrassment before he explained, "it's a pretty cool name, and shorter than Harry."

Harry nodded once as if he understood, which he supposed he did. Gryffindor's tended to shorten names all the time, but even then no one had called him 'Hare,' even by accident. He soon shrugged it off and invited Sheriff Swan to take a seat.

Without any idle chatter or an introduction to a conversation Charlie simply said, "I want to adopt you."

"I don't want you to because you feel sorry for me," Harry immediately argued, but Charlie cut him off by raising his hand as a clear indication that he wasn't done speaking.

"I do feel sorry for you, who wouldn't? But I don't feel as sorry as you might think." He paused to let Harry take in that information and then said idly, "I've always wanted a son, but my ex-wife and I separated not long after our daughter was born and I've never looked at another woman the same. And you want a family, I can see that." Harry nodded once and kept his eyes trained on Sheriff Swan, "now, I talked it over with Bella and she thinks it'd be pretty cool to have a brother. She's a little older than you, only by about a year. It might also take a while to get all the paperwork filled out and whatnot, but it'd sure be easier if your relatives cooperate. Until then I'll have you released into my custody, and we shouldn't have any trouble with Immigration."

Charlie finished what he had to say and the both of them sat in silence as Harry weighed the situation. He'd asked to be adopted on a whim, one he didn't even think about. But something Luna said on the train back from Hogwarts, '_if it tastes like home, it probably is. If someone sounds like a good father, he likely is. You really should take a chance when it sees you, you've earned it._' It hadn't made sense then, but it clicked as he stared into Charlie's caring, brown eyes.

There weren't any tears followed by manly, overcompensation they'd shown actual emotions. Harry didn't smile in joy or feel years of repressed emotions catch up with him. Instead he looked Charlie Swan straight in the eyes and asked, very seriously "can I call you dad?"

* * *

**To Those Who Just Read:**

I don't think it's very funny at the moment, but to be honest I only tagged this story as 'humor' because 'sarcastic' wasn't an option.

I hope I answered some questions…and maybe made a couple of you scream in frustration because there's no chapter three yet.

I'm sure there was a lot more I wanted to tell you all but it's currently seven in the morning and I am tired.

I like quotes, song suggestions, and reviews

Alzipher


	3. Chapter 3

**To the Masses:** Everyone go thank karasu-archer for inspiring this lazy Al. Her reviews are awesome, just pure awesome. I wrote the first half, probably because of that, but then I took a really, really long break and the second half is kind of...I have no idea.

Soundtrack: I also have no idea.

Warnings: Same as the previous two chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Twilight.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_"Adoption is not about finding children for families, it's about finding families for children." Joyce Maguire Pavao_

Harry still had a couple days left until his doctor would release him from the hospital. He probably could have left after just twenty four hours, but there was talk of his metabolism creating problems. Harry knew that meant they were alarmed that his wounds were healing faster than average, and Dr. Cullen had told Charlie that it was going to make gaining weight difficult. Harry hadn't foreseen that to be a problem. Sure, he had a hard time gaining weight, it drove his mothering friends crazy, and it was hard to find the time to eat what was required to maintain his figure between his classes while pretending he wasn't. He knew why he needed to consume three times the amount of food a human did, but he didn't want to have to explain that to anyone.

After the news Charlie had gone out to get food Harry decided to go for a walk. His shirt had been shredded by overly enthusiastic ER doctors, and walking around in hospital scrubs without an escort was sure to get him sent back to his small, unaired room. He slipped his skinny legs back into Dudley's old pants, crammed his socked feet into his old trainers, and slipped Charlie's forgotten jacket over his hospital issued shirt. He looked like a mess, he realized when he finally looked in the mirror. Weight loss hadn't started to show, but there were bags under his eyes and his skin was pale. He missed the sunshine, he just wanted some fresh air. That he had to crawl past the nurse station and hug the wall as he turned corners was probably a sign it was something he shouldn't have been doing it.

It wasn't hard to find the courtyard. He didn't want to run away, but that would have been just as simple. Signs pointed him to where he wanted to go and everyone was very nice. He passed through the cafeteria, out the back door, and into the garden. It was small and tall trees stood on both side of the stone partition, like it didn't even matter, and the moss grew everywhere. Harry found an old bench, tugged his trainers off and the thick hospital socks soon after. He sank his toes into soft dirt and leaned back. The injuries across his lower back pained him, but the misty air was brushing across his face and what sunlight could get through the clouds beat down on his skin. He could breath again.

Harry licked the air, the magic tasted wonderful. He could build a nest there, and those instictual thoughts were no longer met with alarming human logic, so he let himself just feel them with a sharp reminder to create some sort of exit strategy. He leaned to the side, brought his feet up so he could curl up on the bench, and closed his eyes. He didn't get the chance to doze off.

"You may catch a cold out here," a silky voice said wisely.

Harry smell-tasted the air between them, caught a familiar scent. Age, Harry had found out, was marked in a vampire. Sanguini had explained it, and he hated to repeat himself so it was just that once, that there was just something about the change a human goes through when they become a vampire -like they absorb the dirt underneath them and the air around them to turn their skin to stone and their saliva deadly. Harry understood, he'd gone through his own metamorphosis and felt the entire world shift around him. As it stood, smell-tasting a vampire was a bit like carbon dating. The man standing above him, just to the side was almost halfway through his three hundreds. Harry sat up and stuck his feet back into the ground before he looked up and met golden eyes. "You know I won't," he replied. Vampires could smell him, in a different way but just as clearly, as Harry could smell them.

The doctor sat next to him, putting a polite distance between them. "I don't know what you are," his tone conveyed deep confusion and not any sign of anger or frustration. "I'm very old, and yet I haven't a single clue."

Harry didn't reply right away, because the doctor didn't ask him any questions. He wasn't demanding to know what he was, he was more in awe of the mystery. Harry wasn't about to tell him. "Yeah, well," he finally said, leaving the sentence unfinished, evasively.

They sat in silence for a moment, until the doctor spoke up again. "You are my patient," the doctor said finally. Harry had suspected that was the case, and didn't bother to introduce himself because his doctor obviously knew who he was. "You need to be in a more sterile environment."

"I won't get an infection," Harry said confidently, because it just wasn't possible.

"All boys your age thing they can't get sick," Dr. Cullen replied. That was true, Harry knew. He'd seen all of his roommates at one point or another deny any sort of ailment because big boys didn't whine. Hermione too, because apparently she counted herself one of the guys. That, or she was frequently in denial of her body's condition. Harry was more inclined to believe the first, but there was plenty of evidence to back up the second.

"Yes, but we've established that you don't know what I am," Harry pointed out. If he stayed with Charlie though, he might need someone on his side, someone 'in the know.' Then again, in just a day everyone back home would be aware of his creature status. Harry shifted in his seat and stuffed his hands in the baggy pockets of Charlie's jacket. Honesty or evasiveness, that was the question. His hand itched in ghost pain, 'I must not tell lies,' but he ignored it. "I certainly don't know what to call me, and I can't get an infection."

Dr. Cullen just nodded pristinely, having decided that Harry knew more about his own body than anyone else. One out of three anyway, including Hermione and Seamus. Harry still had his notes, filed away the trunk that was left at Privet Drive, but Dr. Cullen didn't know that. "What can you tell me about your eating habits." That was likely just the first of many, many questions.

Harry inhaled through his nose, only smelling the air by human standards. "I eat like a hobbit when I'm at school, but can't seem to gain any weight. Speculation is that my body is already a wreck and doesn't know how to process the things I eat. The scraps I got before I went to boarding school account for that malnutrition you found. When I was twelve I," he paused, unsure of the word he should use, "inherited when I was twelve, and…" He took a hand out of his pocket to make a continuing motion, "so I started closely monitoring what I eat."

"That was a very smart thing to do," Dr. Cullen praised, but Harry knew it was because he was young and most blokes his age ate everything that was placed in front of them. "Did you tell an adult?"

"Of course not," Harry answered, "how do I explain to my instructors that I'm no longer human." He turned to his doctor with a raised eyebrow, and knew the vampire understood," and it was my friend's idea to keep a chart." Not Hermione, despite popular belief that she had all the good ideas. Lavender Brown was a calorie counter, and one morning she slapped a chart down in front of him that included subcategories that included 'makes me sick' which just meant he was going to vomit it up without taking in any of the nutrients. He'd filled one out every week that he was at school.

"What did you conclude?" Dr. Cullen pressed. He could tell it was hard to pull answers out of the child was hard. As his doctor though, it was his job to know those things and have his health-care regimen altered to better suit his nature. Harry outlined what he could and couldn't eat in fine detail, and the doctor listened with fascination while slowly piecing the clues together. "If I may be a little bold, it sounds like…" he wavered in his analysis of Harry's diet.

"A bird's diet, with bits of what a snake my size would eat," Harry nodded, knowing a man of his age would figure that out fast enough. He was going to tell Charlie, if he stayed long enough. There was something about lying to the man who had taken him in, about the very nature of his existence that didn't sit well with him. If Luna was right, if this was going to be his new home, he was going to try and be as honest as a sixteen year old guy could be. He tilted his head so that his hair fell away from his face and he licked the air again, taking in as much of the freshness as he could. No way was it was as clear as the air in Scotland, but the air wasn't polluted by the light of magic that blinded him. He didn't know how Luna could stand it, all of the lines and symbols and sometimes just clouds of floating light. He'd tried to talk her into some of those charmed glasses that Lavender had made for him, back when he'd first changed. They'd help her focus in class, and maybe people would stop calling her Loony if she didn't stare off at the magic so much. She'd declined.

"Yes," Dr. Cullen admitted. "How unique," he said in a sort of a chipper tone. Harry snorted in amusement. "How did this come about?" he asked. Harry shook his head and kicked his feet up, watching the dirt sift through his toes. He wasn't going to say. "Then, is there anything else I should know."

Harry thought, and in the time he was wondering if any of his past exploits were considering medically relevant Charlie Swan found them. Harry smiled, and at the same time his stomach growled loud enough for him and the doctor to hear.

Charlie looked relieved to see him, and Harry wondered why. He was only gone for half an hour, and by the time Harry had managed to dress without popping any of his stitches and sneak downstairs he'd been gone fifteen minutes. Yet, something in his face visibly relaxed when he came around and spotted the kid and the doctor. Dr. Cullen stood and gave a nod farewell before he went to meet Charlie a few paces away. They were having an obvious adult conversation about him, and while the phoenix enhanced his hearing it was only slightly better than average. He was specifically in-tuned to more magical sounds, like Remus' growl or a vampire tones, and occasionally music would trigger his hearing and sounds would light up. Dr. Cullen was a vampire, and his voice lit up like a roman candle; in bursts of random colors. Harry had no idea what those colors meant, but he could still hear some of the things that Dr. Cullen was saying.

Among the things he was saying, Dr. Cullen told Charlie "he's going to eat a lot, possibly more than the average teenager, " but it didn't sound like a warning, but some inside joke, from father to father. The doctor answered some questions about his own sons, they wished each other a good day, and the doctor headed back in.

Harry let Charlie approach him, and he could smell the food through his nose and see a spot of grease staining the brown paper bag. He scrambled his brain for something to say, thinking maybe he should apologize because he did sneak out and not tell anyone where he'd be. Dr. Cullen probably only found him because of his enhanced senses, and finding Harry in a building full of humans was probably a lot like finding a giant purple bull in a pile of hay. Though, Ron liked it on the record that it wasn't his fault, it was an accident, he didn't know why it was purple and yes, he would help Hagrid with his dead grass.

A girl was trailing behind Charlie at a bit of a distance. Harry wondered if she was the amazing Isabella that Charlie spoke so fondly of, and if she has then why was she walking behind her dad and not with him. Perhaps the reason she was trailing behind was because she was avidly watching her feet as they walked across the uneven ground. She was letting her dark brown hair hang around her head like a curtain, like a shield. She kept her hands in the pockets of her blue, hooded sweatshirt, her jeans were nondescript, as were her shoes. To Harry this girl was the type that tried very hard to blend in, and succeeded. Harry wondered why.

Charlie reached him first, and Harry scooted over just a bit as a show that the sheriff was welcome to take a seat. The girl, Harry was so sure it was the Bella that Charlie was so proud of, sat on the other side and peered around her father with big doe-like eyes. Curious, Harry realized, she was curious about him and he was probably mirroring her expression. The entire ordeal must have been awkward for Charlie, who was literally caught in the middle of two nervous teenagers because he coughed in his hand to get their attention.

"Isabella, Hare. Hare, Isabella," Charlie introduced, just a little mischievously. Harry could tell it was so they were both on the same level of embarrassed, by the way he used their full names, while Harry knew very well that she went by Bella. Judging by the way her pale cheeks heated up, she either thought her name was odd or she thought his was.

"Just Bella," she corrected. Her voice was surprisingly solid for someone with all the signs of being on the verge of a panic attack.

"Harry," he corrected too, because he wasn't going to let go by Hare for the rest of his time in Forks. That would just be weird, and he knew by experience that it wouldn't take long for the other kids to come up with some rabbit or bunny related nicknames. Sure, he could tell them that a hare and a rabbit weren't the same thing until he was blue in the face, but if he didn't really differentiate then it wasn't likely anyone else would either.

Neither Harry or Bella were chatter boxes. Harry knew that Charlie wasn't really either, so it wasn't surprising that the food was passed out without a word, and Harry was half way through is first burger -greasy and cheesy, and kind of amazing, before Charlie realized that maybe they should be communicating and said helpfully "Bella likes to read," with a hopeful tone.

That was an area Harry was kind of comfortable with, actually. At Hogwarts there wasn't lot to do except read and play sports or Chess. Sitting around and chatting was fine so long as people had things to talk about, and if it wasn't gossip or sports scores then it was about books. Also, he was friends with Hermione, and no one could live with her without accidentally reading a book every once in a while.

Harry actually liked to read, it was the one thing he was allowed to do at the Dursley's when he was locked up in his cupboard for most of his childhood. The Dursley's didn't put a lot of stock in things like books, Vernon much rather cultivate a business sense in his dim boy than making sure he had a well rounded education. Petunia never thought that he might derive pleasure from the texts from school or that he would sneak library books in under his baggy clothes, but nobody needed to know that. The point was that Harry knew some things about some stuff and judging by the way Bella was using her hair as a shield between her and the rest of the world it was obvious that Harry would have to take the first step.

"What kind of things?" Harry said, and he hoped that his demeanor didn't betray the cool and collected appearance he was trying to uphold.

"Classics, mostly," Bella replied, and she probably would have left it at that if Charlie hadn't nudged her, "and you?"

Harry shrugged. Harry mostly read whatever he could get his hands on as a kid, and after he started Hogwarts he just tried to keep up with all the books Hermione shoved under his nose. Then he thought for a moment, carefully about things that the Swan's would need to know and about how he would explain the inevitable slip-up's that he'd have. "My friends and I read a lot of occult-fantasy type things," which would explain his very strong knowledge of magic, and they did -Ron had this favorite author who wrote mysteries and he got really excited just before a new book was released. "One of them, Hermione, she was going with a Russian bloke last year, so we read a lot of stuff from his country. Just barely got out of having to learn Russian too."

Bella, who had perked up just as soon as he mentioned 'occult-fantasy' set her burger back into her wrapper and leaned in with interest. She was about to say something when Charlie started buzzing, and it took longer than Harry would like to admit to realize that it was probably his cell phone. Charlie hadn't yet realized it, and Bella nudged his side with a bony elbow. "Dad, you're phone is vibrating."

Charlie's eyes rose up, like he was surprised she'd know that, but Harry could still hear the buzzing clearly. "I don't know how you can do that," but he set his burger back in it's wrapper also and back into the bag before excusing himself. The two teens watched him walk a distance before he took a small contraption from a holster on his belt and flip it open.

"He doesn't believe I can hear it buzzing," Bella offered, sparing Harry a small grin, "I told him it's because older people can't hear that frequency anymore, but" and then she shrugged.

Harry grinned back, "it's just a sign of age then," he voiced, and it probably wouldn't have been as amusing if they weren't so nervous. Charlie had been acting as a sort of barrier between them, and without his presence it was like they were two strangers being left alone.

"Right, this is just really very awkward," Harry said finally. He didn't like it, he was tired of it already, and as a healing boy he didn't need the added stress. He remembered the first night at Hogwarts, when he and his dorm mates were all eleven years old and excited because they lived in a world of magic and they were going to learn how to do all of the awesome things that adults could do and it was going to be amazing. They didn't know each other, Seamus kept calling them all by the wrong names for the first week, Dean Thomas missed his mum to the point of literal tears, and Harry slept under his bed rather than on it until he was sure none of them were going to hurt him in his sleep. It was just the beginning of things, but then Neville said, in his usual terrified way, that enough was enough. They were going to have to share their lives from then on and they could either choose to get used to one another slowly, while Harry slept on the cold floors and Ron stayed up longer than everyone else because he was embarrassed that he snored, or they could rip the band-aid off and just choose not to be awkward.

Obviously, as eleven year old boys, they chose to just pretend there never was an issue, Ron conked out almost immediately after, Dean brought out a framed photo of him and his mum to set on his nightstand. Neville helped Seamus remember all of their names with just a little bit of practice, and Harry slept on top of his mattress for the first time. With socks and shoes on so that he could run away if he needed to, but it was still progress. "Let's just choose not to be awkward, and not judge one another because I know I've got faults. And I'm gross, I'm a teenage boy so you probably already knew that, and I don't care if you're weird, or a transvestite, or still believe in Santa Claus. I just never thought something like this could happen."

Bella looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment, and Harry was worried he may have broken her brain, just a little bit. The silence stretched on, Harry could hear Charlie was still talking to someone on the other end of the invisible phone signal, maybe his plan to just skip the worst of it would backfire. Perhaps she was like Hermione, and believed that getting through that awkward stage just made everyone closer in the end -she was wrong and the first year boys had been treated to the amusement of watching the first year girls dance around being rude to one another, but maybe she did thing it was a necessary evil. Then, when Harry thought he might cry because she was still looking at him like that, did she say "Do you mean Santa's not real?"

Harry nearly dropped his burger. He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, his own green eyes looked like giant pools of 'holy fucking shit' before he realized she'd got him. He narrowed his eyes and gave her a low-powered glare, "you're good." The 'but I'm better,' was left unsaid. She didn't need to know he was secretly super-evil until at least week two.

Charlie walked back to the both of them while Bella was still obviously laughing at him on the inside, Harry could tell by the way her eyes were dancing as she bit into her own burger. He looked a bit disappointed, and Harry felt something in him drop like the last ingredient to go into Neville's cauldron before it explodes. "Sorry kids, it looks like I'm needed at the office." Oh, well that wasn't as bad as Harry thought it would be. Then again, Harry thought it would be having to go back to the Dursley's. He chanced a glance at Bella and she didn't appear saddened, more like alarmed that they were going to be left completely alone and she was going to find herself on a stage in front of hundreds of people in nothing but her underwear. Harry knew that look, because that was pretty much Neville's default setting. Though, for Neville it was an actual possibility -what with all the magic and stuff. "When I talked to Dr. Cullen earlier, he said that you could be released today, but you have to follow the instructions he gives you and come back for a check-up in a few days." Charlie continued

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. Not that he hated the plain walls and the gossiping nurses. Actually, he did, a lot. He also hated being confined to a bed, being cooed over by nurse Stanley, and not being allowed to wear his own clothes.

"Yeah," Charlie said slowly, not sure what to make of the sudden burst of enthusiasm. He must have just written it off as teenager mood swings because a moment later he didn't seem all that concerned, "I'll sign you out, you'll be released into my custody, I'll drop you kids off at home and then you and Bella can go to a couple of those teenager clothing places."

Harry may have been amused if he could see that both his and Bella's expressions turned into ones of disgust in less than a second, as they both peered accusing eyes. Just what kind of teenagers did he thing they were, anyway? Charlie only smiled, because that was at least something they had in common and it also meant that neither one of them would take an overly long amount of time. Harry was still healing, after all.

Then they looked towards one another and realized their mutual hatred for rummaging through clothing racks and the stress of finding things that didn't draw too much attention but didn't look like they just paid a homeless man for his clothes. "What size pants do you wear?" Harry asked, because if they wore the same size clothing then they could avoid the issue all together.

"Girl sizes," Bella replied, "for girl shapes, and you're not going to be one of those guys." She insisted, but her voice wavered at the end, as if she weren't sure of her own conviction. Harry gave her a questioning, sideways sort of look. "Those guys that wear girl jeans and eyeliner." Harry pulled another face, one of scrunched up confusion. "They actually do, sometimes," she added.

"I'll just give you guys a card," Charlie butt in, alarming Harry somewhat. He didn't want to take the man's money, but the protests got caught in his throat. "Now let's wrap this up, you can eat on the way." He insisted, he didn't want them to feel like was ditching them, because he wasn't supposed to have to go in that day, but he was in a bit of a hurry. So he explained "apparently some kids your age decided to go out into the woods and drink themselves silly." He gave them both warning looks, so Harry was assuming that was something they weren't supposed to do.

Harry was done with his first burger though, and just tossed his wrapper in the bag. Charlie and Bella waited for him to put his socks and trainers back on before they make the short walk back inside. Harry would miss even the temporary loss of the clear air. Charlie carried their half-empty bag,and Bella resumed the avid watch of her feet -like she didn't trust them to walk correctly. Harry lagged behind with her, also watching her feet. "What's wrong with them?" he asked her.

"I trip a lot," she explained bluntly, so apparently she'd decided that they were going to skip the awkward stage after all. Her face was as red as ever, but her hair was pulled across one shoulder and not a blockade between them. Progress.

* * *

**To Those Who Just Read:**

I completely forgot what I had planned for this chapter, so you guys get this short one instead. Bella's characterization is still kind of in the works, but I'm not sure about a couple of ideas just yet.

Umm...What?

I like song suggestions, quotes, and reviews.

Thanks,

Al


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